The Things Draco Didn't Tell His Father
by D'autrefois
Summary: 'That time of year and at that time of night, no one wandered to West Tower just for the sake of it.' This time, it was for his broken nose. With their feet off the ground and heads literally in the clouds, two unlikely characters share a secret. Ask the owls about it. They know. Third year. one-shot. D/Hm.


**The Things Draco Didn't Tell His Father**

Barn owls hooted loudly in their stone nooks. The creatures were peeved at the harsh draft coming through the glassless windows of West Tower, and for good reason. Wet snow splattered in sheets through the holes in the walls, which were opened like wounds, to announce that not only had winter come but it was here with a vengeance.

They flapped their wings and hopped to and fro in agitation, making their feathers fall in a flurry to join the straw and droppings already on the frozen ground. Tawnies were screeching into the night and grey owls crowed, perhaps also bemoaning the cold that they could do nothing about.

An intruder crept into the Owlery much like she did most nights and the owls squawked at the sudden disturbance.

"Who?" They seemed to ask. "Who? Who?"

Hermione Granger shook her wand from the sleeve of her black school robes and, as if in response, granted their deepest wish. The warming charm settled over the room like a blanket, bringing with it a hush of soft hoots.

Pigwidgeon squeaked and fell off his perch in excitement, landing right on his happy little bird face.

"Silly thing," Hermione muttered whilst feeling in her pockets. The other owls regarded Pig with distaste, but he chirped and hopped obliviously, dancing over the bushy-haired girl's boots. She knelt and fed the "Stupid Little Feathery Git", as Ron called him, a treat. The nip left by Pig's sharp beak made her recoil only slightly. The tiny scops owl bit her every single time and she was getting used to it, regrettably.

Hedwig took her treat with much less fuss, and the other creatures picked at mouse carcasses and chittered amongst themselves, discussing the secret life of birds and other mysterious quandaries, or perhaps just clucking about one small thing or the other.

The witch let her heavy satchel slide off her shoulder and hit the ground with a thud. She'd been going over notes in the library when Madame Prince started peering at her every few minutes over the spectacles resting on her pointy nose. Though Hermione's love of books was legendary, perhaps having about thirty of them opened and spread out over two tables was a bit much. So she left, if only to cast off any suspicion. She had missed dinner by then. Even with a Time Turner there was hardly enough hours in the day.

Her stomach lurched as she sat down on the floor and let her legs slip through one of the openings that the owls used to fly in and out of their home. She let her feet dangle over the edge, the soles of them so far from the ground below that even with squinting she couldn't quite see the bottom. True, she did feel a bit sick but the drop, though disorienting when she glanced, was not the reason for her unease. That moron Malfoy had gone beyond being infuriating when he made sure Buckbeak was sentenced to death. And for what? Hurting the little snot's arm? He had deserved it, just like how he deserved the bloody nose she gave him earlier that day. Hermione still felt the satisfying crunch of his nasal bones under her fist, and she smiled at the memory of his frightened ferret face when he ran like a–

"Oi!" She ducked at the whoosh of wind and flutter of feathers over her head. The eagle owl that had abruptly pulled her from her thoughts glanced back at her looking utterly unperturbed as it dipped and turned in the sky with wide swoops. Its sharp talons clutched at a rolled parchment.

"Just something for Father," Draco said nonchalantly. Hermione clutched her chest, trying to calm her racing heart.

"You bloody idiot! What if I had fallen?"

"Serves you right! My nose still hurts."

It looked like it did and he wasn't just whining like usual. The aforementioned appendage was plum-coloured and swollen.

Hermione scoffed.

"Like I care. That's your own fault." With the shock of nearly being mauled by Draco's owl over and done with, Hermione turned back to face the wintry slopes. The Owlery was a ways off from the main buildings of Hogwarts and through the whistling snowfall, Hermione could just make out movements in the glowing windows of the school.

Draco Malfoy made his way over to her all whist adjusting the green and black scarf wrapped around his neck. He kicked a mound of melting snow from in front the hole adjacent to hers and watched the lumps fall into the storm outside. He paled even more than usual but settled down anyway, with his trademark sneer plastered on his face. The veneer was convincing, and all too necessary. He wasn't fond of being so far from Earth when he didn't have a broom to break his fall. The Scottish air felt cold on his face, and contrasted sharply with the warmth on his back and the seat of his trousers.

"It smashed my arm, Granger, or haven't you heard?"

"No, he smashed your fragile ego," she responded. She swung her legs, regarding the sharp drop. "I ought to push you."

"Go on," he said. A quick look confirmed that he couldn't see the ground from that high up. "Looks like you have a lot of space and opportunity."

"I'd do it."

"Then do it." After the words left his mouth, he gulped down the lump that formed in his throat.

The bookworm was glaring at him with eyes like daggers. For a moment he thought she was mad enough, in both senses of the word, to actually push him. She certainly looked it. The Slytherin braced himself, and nearly considered reaching for his wand, before she huffed and turned her face away. He exhaled the breath he didn't realize he held, and the white puff quickly dispersed in the roaring winds.

"I suppose even if you die you'll still find a way to tell _Father_ about it, wouldn't you?" she asked. Internally, he flinched.

"I don't tell him everything," he said. Any hope he had of being convincing was quickly dashed.

"He's the only one who'd believe a word you say."

"There were witnesses. Everyone saw it." He had only just gotten his arm out the sling the day before. Contrary to what she thought, his arm really had been hurt. Getting Weasel to chop his caterpillars for him was an added bonus.

"That's right, and it embarrassed you." She was sure of it, as sure as the waving motions she made in Transfiguration earlier. " _'I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!'_ "

"I wasn't embarrassed."

"It embarrassed you," she said over him, as a matter of fact. Draco was poised to deny it again, but she continued. "And so you want Hagrid fired and Buckbeak dead."

Draco let the words set in. Or rather, he did not know the best way to respond. Sure, he had been embarrassed. How could he not be? It was yet another thing Potter bested him at. If four-eyes could tame the chicken, surely he could, he thought. Well, he was wrong. He didn't do very well at being wrong.

"That part wasn't my idea, Granger. Father –"

"Father this, and Father that. Can't you think for your bloody self?"

Not entirely, the blonde wanted to say. Not since he was old enough to know that the Malfoy name meant something, and as the only heir, he meant something too. He was brought up a certain way, a way that the witch could never understand.

"It's not really dead, is it?" he asked. Hermione didn't answer, choosing not to reveal that Buckbeak was indeed alright. Draco would discover it for himself soon. He already had a nagging suspicion that the Golden Trio had worked their magic yet again and he wouldn't admit that he was glad for it.

"I won't apologize."

"You never do," she responded. She understood that Draco had just apologized in his own roundabout way, and it was best to let him think that she hadn't noticed. She gestured towards his face. "Come, let me see it."

"I knew you cared," he smirked and leaned only slightly toward her. The fact that Hermione showed interest in the injury amused him to no end. He had been counting on her sympathy and made it a point not to heal himself until she saw the damage. His eyes twinkled.

"Shut up and bring it here." She held her hand out and gripped his chin lightly, turning his face this way and that. Draco's grip white-knuckled on the stone, which was the only thing keeping him from barreling to certain death.

"It's broken."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you go to the Hospital Wing, you git?" she asked, pulling her wand from her sleeve. "Afraid to tell Pomfrey you got hit by a girl?"

"As if. You caught me by surprise, is all," he said. She pointed the wand at his face so fast he hardly saw it.

" _Episkey_."

"Bloody hell!" Draco jolted in pain when his nose promptly snapped back into place with an audible pop. By reflex, he reached for it, but not before the fingers on his chin jerked him forward. He yelped, almost losing his balance on the ledge, but his noise of protest was cut off when warm lips pressed against his own.

He tasted sweet, Hermione noted. Sweet, like chocolates.

Draco leaped back as soon as she let him go, scrambling into the safety of the Owlery. The birds squawked at the sudden movement.

"I knew it! You're scared of heights," she said. She was grinning with triumph. The more she saw of Malfoy, the more human he got.

"I'm not scared!" he insisted. The memory of their first kiss still burned on his mouth and on his cheeks.

"How can a seeker be scared of heights?"

"I'm not!" Draco stood up quickly, dusting straw from his cloak. Hedwig glared disapprovingly at him and all the racket he was making. He was flustered, and obviously so. "But do we have to meet in here?"

"What's wrong with here?" she asked with feigned curiosity. She scooted back carefully and slung her book bag over her shoulder. Draco was only slightly taller than her, she noticed, when she stood much more gracefully than he did. He raked a hand through his hair to get it out of his flaming face.

"It's too far."

"Same time tomorrow, then?"

The question remained open, and unanswered. It didn't need a response. That time of year and at that time of night, no one wandered to West Tower just for the sake of it. This was the only place they could get a break from the personas they wore like second skins.

Draco leaned in close and whispered so the birds couldn't hear, voice laced with practiced bravado.

"I'm going to call you a Mudblood in Charms and lose twenty house points."

"Harry will probably call you Ferret Face and lose five. And I'll hex you at lunch."

"Looking forward to it." He smirked. He took her hand and pressed a small chocolate frog in her palm. The Gryffindor blinked owlishly as she closed her fingers around it. "And for the record, I don't tell Father everything."

Hermione smiled at his retreating figure, already scheming about what curse to use over her second serving of pumpkin pie.

The snow had come quickly that evening and would be gone just as fast. By morning, it'll be like it was never there at all. Just like the both of them.

Barn owls hooted softly in their stone nooks.


End file.
